Words Left Unspoken
by fbis.most.unwanted
Summary: Sherlock knew what he wanted to say, but he couldn't bring himself to speak. So many things deserved to be said during that agonizing silence, and so many of those things were cruelly locked away, never to see the light of day. And all because of sentiment.


There are thousands upon thousands of words that compose the English language, and Sherlock Holmes couldn't for the life of him, think of one at that moment –that moment which one could quite possibly argue was one of the most important moments he had ever experienced. Shouldn't his words flow seamlessly, as they always did? Why was now so different?

To say that no words existed to describe his current situation would not be true –there were several that could be used.

But still, those that embodied Sherlock's thoughts caught in his throat, residing so close to pronunciation that they almost could be heard in the stillness that blanketed the atmosphere and made the air sit heavily in his lungs.

There was one thing that kept the words from escaping the detective's lips. Sentiment. It was always the damned sentiment that held Sherlock back.

So many things deserved to be said during that agonizing silence, and so many of those things were cruelly locked away, never to see the light of day.

And all because of sentiment.

Emotions had never stopped Sherlock from speaking his mind –just ask anyone at Scotland Yard. Why were they so prominent now?

As Sherlock's eyes met with John's, the proper words had never been so clear; yet, they could not be said. Sherlock knew what he _wanted _to say, but what he wanted did not coincide with what he _should _say.

If someone were to have said to Sherlock a few years ago that he would have met someone who would become his best friend in the entire world, Sherlock would not have believed a word of it.

But it happened. John Watson started off as someone to take the place of a skull, but he became so much more than a substitute for something so utterly interchangeable.

John Watson was someone Sherlock could talk to –and he would respond, unlike the skull. John was the one person besides Sherlock who did not view his deductions as "freakish" or "unnatural", but as something amazing.

The two fell into a sort of routine –cracking jokes at crime scenes, solving crimes. All was well, but then their perfect reality shattered.

And Sherlock couldn't pick up the pieces this time.

Sherlock was dragged back into his isolation once again, and he was forced to hover along the periphery of the world in which he was once fully immersed. But that seemed so long ago.

Sherlock hid in the shadows as he watched his best friend slowly but surely move on, leaving room for Sherlock in only his memories.

It wasn't John's moving on with his life that bothered Sherlock –it was ridiculous to think that John would be trapped in his grief forever. Sure, it stung, but that was only the knife in his back.

It was when John replaced the detective that turned the hilt. Sherlock knew he was being forgotten –that was what hurt the most, the knowledge that when John smiled like that, Sherlock would never be on the receiving end again.

The silence between the doctor and the detective was lingering, bordering on excessive, and Sherlock knew that he had to say something.

The hardest part was not finding the words –they had come long ago. It was choosing which ones to say: what needed to be said and what would be the right thing to say.

"_I love you." _

"Sherlock is a girl's name," the detective said, the beginnings of a smile forming on his lips. But it was not a genuine smile.

His smile had broken long ago.

"I'm not naming my daughter after you," John chuckled.

Sherlock forced himself to laugh along, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. It was better this way, he decided. John was happy with Mary, and Sherlock could not bring himself to take that away. He had missed his chance, and Sherlock would never let himself forget it.

Sherlock did something he had never done: he set aside his own happiness because he knew that it would just make things worse. Sherlock didn't think he could bear to see the doctor's smile crumble away, replaced with disappointment. He loved John, and he couldn't do that to him.

One broken heart was better than two.

Sherlock was aware of what his future would hold. He would be alone again, but that was okay. Sherlock had learned something from all of this.

Sherlock Holmes learned that it was better not to fall in love. It caused too many repercussions. In fact, it was best not to become attached to anybody.

Sherlock wanted to minimize the damage he caused others, and the only way to do that was alone.

After all, if you never let anyone get close, you have no one to hurt, and no one will be left to hurt you.


End file.
